Why Albert Should Never Get Sick
by btamamura
Summary: When Albert falls ill with a cold, the other Musketeers wish to return the favour for taking care of them when they were sick. But, will it work out alright?


**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Albert the Fifth Musketeer, or the characters._

**Notes: **_**This was at first going to be a humor fic, but somehow it fell into a deeper spiral. I apologise to Albert for making him suffer for the sake of this fic...I'll have to write one to make it up to him. Anyway, I hope you do enjoy this.**_

It was a typical morning at de Treville's mansion. Following late-night patrolling, the Three Musketeers and D'Artagnan did not want to wake from their slumber. But, they knew they had to, so they reluctantly climbed out of bed, got into their uniforms and wondered to themselves if Albert was in the mood to make some spaghetti bolognese for breakfast.

As for Albert, even though he tended to rouse from his slumber once the rooster (or whoever's turn it was) made the call at the crack of dawn, for some reason he felt more fatigued than usual. He hadn't been out on late-night patrol with the others, he'd stayed behind so he could continue working on an invention he needed to repair.

Four Musketeers were in the workshop, noticing the absence of their smallest yet bravest comrade. "That's funny, at this time he'd either be dishing up breakfast or shooing us out..." Porthos commented.

Just as he'd said that, the petit Musketeer entered his workshop. He looked as if he was still half-asleep, something the others had never seen before. Albert was always a morning person, able to rise with the sun, so something was definitely off. "Good morning, friends." His voice sounded a little weak as well.

"Good morning, Albert. I'm surprised you, of all people, actually slept longer than the rest of us," D'Artagnan stated. "Something wrong?"

"No, not really. Maybe I just overdid it a little last night, that's all." He made his way to the fireplace and lit a match. "I need to brew up some more ammunition, so it looks like spaghetti is for breakfast." He started to fan the fire to help it grow, then set about adding the necessary ingredients to the large pot sitting above it. As the smell filled his workshop, he felt his stomach churn, but chose to ignore it.

Four out of five of the males were seated and eating. The fifth was just sitting. "What's wrong? Not hungry?" Porthos asked.

"No, not really. I might have something a little later," Albert responded. He shifted away from the table when the scent of the food became a little too intense for him to handle. "After breakfast, we should begin our morning workouts, then when the Captain returns from visiting the Louvre, we'll start some training."

The other four nodded and continued to eat their breakfast.

Their workouts consisted of laps around the courtyard, lifting some weights and skipping numerous times with a jump rope. They had to make sure they were fit, as Musketeers always had to ensure they were able to run a great distance if necessary. While it was true that Albert tended to fall behind his taller comrades, just because they had longer legs, there had never been a time he'd been so far behind that there would be no chance of catching up to them unless they stopped. For some reason, he felt out of breath just seconds after beginning to run, and was it just him, or was it starting to heat up? Strange, considering it was autumn...

The workouts continued as planned, but came to an abrupt halt when Aramis saw Albert swaying on his feet and caught him before he fell to the ground. He removed his leather glove and placed a hand on the younger man's forehead. "He's burning up!"

"Let's get him back into bed," D'Artagnan suggested.

Aramis rose to a standing position, the smallest Musketeer in his arms, and he carried him back into his sleeping quarters.

He slowly opened his eyes and noticed four concerned faces looking upon him. "What happened?"

"You have a fever. Have you been feeling unwell all morning?" Athos asked in response.

"I have...but I thought it was nothing, so I just ignored it..."

"And you told us to take better care of our health if we felt unwell," D'Artagnan sighed. "Well, to return the favour for looking after us when that cold affected the whole city of Paris, we're going to look after you today! We won't take no for an answer, and you are to stay in bed unless you absolutely must get up. Understood?"

The smallest male nodded in concurrence. "Then, I'll be in your hands."

"Good. So, what should we do first?"

"I'm comfortable right now, so it is fine. But, if you'd like to do something, Grandmama's book of family remedies is in my workshop. There should be a treatment for what's ailing me."

"Then, let's get going! One for all...!"

"And all to the workshop!" the Three Musketeers chorused.

Albert chuckled quietly and watched his companions leave his bedroom. He rested against the pillow. "Hopefully, all will be well..."

Porthos found the book. "Here it is! That book of remedies!" He removed it from the shelf and set it on the table. He opened it and flipped through until they found the pages about treating fevers.

Aramis had a close look. "Let's see..._The treatment depends on the symptoms the patient is experiencing. If they just have a fever with nothing else, then the following will help. However, if they have also experienced feelings of nausea, loss of appetite or the fever continues to rise, then the remedy on the next page is better suited for them._ It seems she knew a lot..."

"No wonder Albert knew exactly what to do to take care of us when we were sick!"

Aramis turned the page. "_First, ensure the patient is comfortable and has means of bringing the fever down. Make certain the patient stays well hydrated._ He does have those cool cloths...and I'm sure Athos left a jug of water by his bedside, right?"

Athos nodded. "I did."

"Good. _Once the patient is comfortable, you can begin to work on this remedy. Please take note that you must follow this procedure perfectly, as each ingredient can either help or hinder the patient's recovery._"

"Porthos, grab another pot and put it over the fireplace. It's time for us to start cooking!" D'Artagnan ordered.

The fire had been lit, and it was time to put the ingredients in. "We must make sure the ginger is finely chopped so it will mix well," Aramis stated as he read from the book. "D'Artagnan, you can do that, right?"

"Of course I can. I'll just imagine the ginger is a Cardinal's Guard and slice it to ribbons."

"Just make sure you actually leave some ginger, no turning it to dust like those carrots."

"I said sorry for that already, how many times must you bring it up?" He found a knife and sat at the table. "Okay, so where's the ginger?"

"Right here. I'll deal with the lemons," Porthos responded as he handed it to his younger comrade. He also grabbed a knife, sat opposite of him and started to slice the lemons.

Albert was half-asleep, his fever slowly dropping. He could hear a loud commotion coming from his workshop. _It is fine, they are capable of taking care of me...it's perfectly fine..._ He continued to repeat that thought as the commotion grew louder. _It's fine! Stay in bed, it's fine!_

He could hear a lot of cursing coming from Porthos and D'Artagnan especially, then the sound of something large crashing to the floor. He had to keep telling himself to stay in bed, but as the time passed with more chaotic sounds coming from his workshop, his own personal sanctuary, he became more eager to get out of bed and see what was going on.

The door opened a crack and there stood Porthos. He seemed embarrassed. "Um, Albert?"

"Yes, Porthos?"

"Um...what would you say if I was to tell you that we set a part of your workshop on fire?"

"I wouldn't be too impressed. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Just more motivation for us to be careful."

"Porthos."

He sighed. "Okay, it was over at your target wall! Nothing was seriously damaged, except that dummy! I swear, none of your plans or books were damaged!"

Albert also sighed. "Then, as long as all of you are alright..."

"We are."

"Good. Now, do try to be careful, I can hear everything happening in there, and it's making me worried."

"Okay. In the meantime, would you like something to drink?"

"I'm fine with this water, thank you."

"Still, we can make you a cup of tea or something..."

"No, as I said, I am fine with the water."

"Okay. Then, rest well, Albert." He closed the door.

The petit male let out a sigh as he tried to relax. But, the continuous chaos hindered that. "Just what in the world are they doing?"

It took three hours, some cuts on fingers, some lemon juice in the eye, one small fire, many puddles of what was to be a medicinal tea, five trips to the market in order to replace any lost ingredients and numerous failed attempts. But, the medicinal tea was finally ready. Aramis sat it on the table. "It said to serve at room-temperature, so let's leave it rest here for a few minutes."

"I hope this will help Albert get better soon..." Porthos commented.

"Even if it doesn't and he's still sick when we're assigned on a mission, we'll be just fine," D'Artagnan responded with confidence in his tone.

_I wonder how he can say that after that disaster..._ Aramis and Athos thought. "In any case, let's get this up to his room. The sooner he recovers, the better," Athos added. "It should be cool enough now, right?"

"Not quite yet. In a couple of minutes, we can take it. By the time we reach his room, it will be the right temperature," Aramis responded. "You know, my friends, we'll have to remember this well next time we get sick and he's nursing us back to health. I never realised the trouble we'd put him through." He cast a glance at D'Artagnan. "Especially you when you kept insisting on getting out of bed."

"I seem to recall I wasn't the only one to leave bed at one point," D'Artagnan shot back. "But, you're right. And he was taking care of all four of us, while it's us taking care of just him."

"I hope our efforts today prove just how grateful we were to his kindness," Athos added.

"I'm sure it will. We put a lot of work into this." Porthos brightened. "Hey, when he's able to eat solid food again, we could maybe cook something for him."

"A fine idea, Porthos!"

His eyes fluttered open as he heard his door being opened. He was feeling slightly better, the rest had helped him. He sat up and saw his friends approaching him. Aramis was carrying a tray with a single cup on it. "My friends..."

"Here you go, Albert. It took us a while, but we finally managed to make this medicinal tea your grandmother had suggested in her book," Aramis commented as he held the tray out.

Albert took the cup off the tray, noting the temperature by touch. "It's at room-temperature. You really did follow each instruction." As he put the cup to his lips, he noticed a couple of extra things. D'Artagnan had bandages on his fingers, and Porthos was wearing an eyepatch. _How did I not notice that earlier?_ He sipped the lukewarm tea. _Not exactly as tasty as it should be... _He swallowed. "This is rather tasty. I daresay not even I was able to make it this well..."

"We're glad you like it," D'Artagnan responded.

"We wanted to do everything we could to ensure you have a rapid recovery. This is our way of expressing our gratitude for helping take care of all of us when we had all been stricken by that nasty cold," Aramis added.

"And we'll continue to do what we can until you've completely recovered," Porthos concluded.

"Thank you very much, my friends. I really do appreciate this." His stomach let out a slight grumble. "Oh. It seems my appetite is starting to return..."

"Well, we can prepare something for you to eat as well. What would you like?"

"Just something light for now, I don't think I can handle anything too heavy at the current moment."

"That's fine, we can prepare some bread and broth if you'd like," Athos offered.

"Yes, that sounds perfect. Thank you."

"In that case, we'll go do that. We'll collect your cup when we bring dinner up, so take your time. Feel better, Albert," D'Artagnan said as he led the Three Musketeers out of the room.

Once Porthos had closed the door after himself, Albert set down the cup, thinking of how to dispose of the tea. He did appreciate his friends' efforts, but unfortunately, the tea did not taste right at all. In fact, the flavour on his tongue brought another round of queasiness to his stomach. He lay back, staring at the ceiling, thinking of what he should do. Normally, ideas hit him in an instant, but because he was under the weather, his mind was a little fuzzy.

_I don't want to seem ungrateful to them...maybe I should just finish it. I mean, it's just an unpleasant taste so it's not like it will make me feel much worse than I already am, right?_ He sat up again and started to gulp the tea down. If he took small sips, it would not only take longer to rid himself of that tea, but would also result in savouring the flavour. He set the cup down, lay back and let out a sigh. _There, it's finished. I only hope they don't bring more up. _He heard more commotion coming from his workshop. _It's only broth and bread. How bad can it be?_

In half an hour, he looked to the door as it opened. His stomach was aching horribly from the tea. _I was wrong, it's really upsetting my stomach..._ He put on a smile. "Hello, gentlemen. I could smell the scent of the broth, and it helped my appetite grow." _Is what I would like to say, but in truth, it made me even more worried..._

Porthos handed him the tray that had a bowl of broth and a plate with a bread roll. "Here you go. If you want more, let us know." He picked up the cup and followed the others out of the room.

_Oh well, here goes nothing..._ He broke a bit of bread off the roll and dipped it into the broth. He then popped the bread into his mouth. He brightened. _This is actually very delicious...so then, what was the scent that made me feel concerned...?_ He shook his head, deciding it was probably not worth worrying about, and continued to eat.

When the Musketeers returned to the bedroom to collect the tray and its contents, they were greeted by some unhappy moaning. "Albert? What's the matter?" Aramis asked as he rushed to his side.

"It is my stomach...I think I'm going to have to go to the infirmary..."

"Can you get up?"

"No...everytime I try to sit up, the pain gets much worse. You might want to watch where you put your feet..."

"Oh." He pulled back the covers and lifted the petit man off the bed. "We'll take you. Let's go."

The group hurried out of the bedroom. Along the way, Albert passed into unconsciousness, the pain too unbearable for him.

He awoke to the sound of voices, all very unhappy. He blinked his eyes twice as his mind registered where he was. _Oh, that's right, the infirmary._

"Albert? Are you awake?" D'Artagnan asked.

He turned to his side. "Yes, I'm awake now, D'Artagnan." He tried sitting up, but it was no good. "What happened?"

"It wasn't _just_ a cold," the other Musketeer responded.

The doctor came into the line of view. "You have been unconscious for three days. It turned out the problem was your stomach."

"My stomach?"

"There was something in your stomach that required surgery to remove it." The doctor crossed his arms. "But, before I even realised it, you had signs of poisoning. It's a good thing you did, otherwise we may never have gotten to it before it was too late."

"Poisoning...?"

"It was because of our tea that we'd made for you," Aramis explained. "We did follow the recipe, but we didn't realise the ingredients weren't fresh."

"How are you feeling now?" the doctor questioned.

"Much better, though I am a bit sore," the miniature Musketeer responded quietly.

"As is expected. In any case, you're going to stay here for a few more days until that scar from your surgery has healed. We can't have you opening it up."

"I understand. So, what exactly needed to be removed?"

"It appeared to be a piece of metal. I am unsure how that got into you." He glanced to the other Musketeers who suddenly appeared sheepish. "I have a feeling though."

"I must've accidentally added it to the tea..." Athos whispered.

Albert smiled slightly. "Accidents happen. I still appreciate all you had done for me when I first fell ill."

"At least you were also able to rest enough to recover quickly from your cold," the doctor stated. "Now, I'll have to ask all visitors to leave so my patient can have some rest."

With quiet _bye_s, the Three Musketeers and D'Artagnan made their way out of the infirmary.

Albert lay back on his cot, let out a quiet sigh (and a wince as he felt the pull of his stitches) and closed his eyes.

Following that unfortunate incident, it was decided that if Albert did fall ill, he'd immediately fall into the care of the doctor if he was too unwell to take care of himself. Everybody agreed that was for the best. Even so, Albert still did whatever he could to avoid falling ill in the first place.

Nevertheless, despite how bad things had turned out, he was still grateful to the others for at least caring enough to put in an effort to help him recover...and they did continue to visit him when he was recovering in the infirmary.


End file.
